


pink behind all of the doors

by poiregourmande



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Buzzfeed: Worth It (Web Series)
Genre: M/M, Sharing Clothes, The Pink Shirt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 23:14:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17497181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poiregourmande/pseuds/poiregourmande
Summary: Shane loses his pink shirt (yes,thatshirt) at a party, and who comes into work on Monday wearing it (and looking entirely too hot in it) but Adam?





	pink behind all of the doors

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to [kittensmctavish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittensmctavish/pseuds/kittensmctavish) for the idea.

Shane is digging through his denim jacket pockets for his keys when he realizes he’s got no memory of how he got there. A quick look over his shoulder reveals an Uber driving away, so there’s that. He doesn’t even remember leaving the party – in fact, his last memory is saying yes to somebody’s round of shots. Not his brightest moment.    
  
It’s only when he closes the door and shrugs off his jacket that he realizes he’s got nothing underneath. He distinctly remembers putting on a shirt this morning, his pink one, actually. He stupidly pats himself down, as if there was any room in his too-tight chinos to hide an entire button-down.    
  
Shane goes to bed, a bit bummed out – it is one of his favourite shirts, after all – grateful that at least the party was at someone’s house instead of in a bar where there would basically be no hope of retrieving it.    
  
He feels no less stupid in the morning when, try as he may, he can’t remember whose house the party was at. His pounding headache does nothing to help, and he’s cursing himself and whoever invented tequila as he texts Ryan like  _ you wouldn’t happen to remember whose house we were at last night, would you? _ __  
  
Ryan takes his sweet time answering, first with a string of cry-laugh emojis, then with  _ dude how drunk were you _ and then, finally, he reveals that the party was at Garrett’s.    
  
That’s good. Shane had been afraid it would be some friend of a friend they barely know.    
  
He waits until it’s a decent time to text someone in the aftermath of a party – he didn’t have any such qualms with Ryan, the fool wakes up at five everyday to go to the gym.    
  
_ hey great party last night thanks! did you maybe find a pink button-down shirt? _ __  
  
Garrett answers that he’s still in bed; it takes another three hours before he texts again to say he cleaned the whole house but no dice.    
  
Shane throws his phone somewhere in the pile of blankets he morphed his couch into for the day, downs half of his water bottle, and keeps playing RDR2, cursing his thirty-two year old body that can’t handle hangovers like it used to.    
  
***   
  
Shane still feels a bit like crap come Monday – two-days hangovers: the worst thing that came with his thirties – and he’s at his desk, guzzling tea like it’s going out of style, when he does a double take.    
  
Adam is in a pink shirt.    
  
Not  _ any _ pink shirt.    
  
Shane’s favourite button-down. He knows cause he lost a button on the right cuff and sewed it back on with white thread, thinking it wouldn’t be noticeable.    
  
It’s very noticeable.    
  
But so’s Adam’s chest.    
  
Because Adam is wearing Shane’s shirt like Shane does: two buttons undone at the top, and it’s actually very attention-grabbing. Shane doesn’t think he’s ever seen Adam’s chest before.    
  
No wonder Kelsey always calls it his hot mess shirt. She always says he could out-hot mess her any day, as long as he was wearing it.    
  
Seeing as he wore it on that bad decisions filled party... she might have a point.    
  
Adam meets his eye and smiles, but ducks away before Shane can even think of saying something. Like, say,  ask for his shirt back.   
  
Adam’s smiles are enigmatic, and frankly, Shane can appreciate that. He’s always one for committing to a bit. But right now, he’s racking his brain trying to decipher what that smile meant.    
  
Was it  _ oh I found your shirt remind me to give it back _ ? __  
  
Was it  _ you’re never getting this shirt back _ ? __  
  
Was it  _ hey what’s up? _ and he’s got no idea the shirt is Shane’s?   
  
Or was it  _ thanks for the other night it was fun *wink wink nudge nudge* _ ? __  
  
Oh god did he sleep with Adam?   
  
That’s absurd, he would remember hooking up with someone.    
  
Or would he? He would be remiss to ignore the fact that he’s missing a good chunk of his night, namely, how he lost said shirt.    
  
Trying as hard as he can to sound casual, he pokes Ryan in the shoulder so he takes off his headphones.    
  
“Hey, quick Q? Did, um... did I hang out with Adam at the party?”   
  
“Damn, you really blacked out, didn’t ya? But yeah, there was a bunch of us, with like, Andrew and Pat, and we chatted for a while. Until Pat called shots and I called an Uber.”   
  
“Did I leave with you?”   
  
Ryan chuckles. “Ohhhh no, buddy, you went  _ but it’s not even two!  _ and  __ you’re not my real mom! ”   
  
“Jeeeeesus,” Shane groans, hiding his face in his hands. “Sorry about that.”   
  
“No worries, it was hilarious. Got it on video actually.” Ryan shakes his phone.    
  
“Oh god please don’t post this.”   
  
“You know I’m keeping it as blackmail material.”   
  
“Fair enough.” Shane puffs out a long exhale. “So did Adam act any weird?”   
  
“Dude, it’s hard to out-weird you on tequila.”   
  
So there it is. Shane has exhausted the extent of Ryan’s knowledge and there’s only one thing left to do.    
  
Actually talking to Adam.

Actively cursing himself and all the choices that led him to this point, Shane corners Adam in the canteen when it’s mostly empty. 

“So… that’s my shirt,” he says, tugging at the sleeve. 

“Sure is.” Adam’s eyes are twinkling but he stays otherwise stoic. 

“Can I ask why you’re wearing it?”

“I need to do laundry and it was between this and an old Powerpuff Girls shirt?”

Shane sighs and sits down in the opposite chair. “The thing is… I don’t remember Saturday night. Care to enlighten me as to why you’re in possession of my shirt?” 

“Not really, no.”

Adam’s enjoying this, the bastard. 

“What if I buy you dinner?”

Now, Shane should probably do some serious soul-searching, mainly about why he asked Adam on a date rather than insist he answers the question, but like. 

Adam looks cute in his shirt. What’s a few more hours?

They go out in Shane’s car, straight from work, so of course, Adam sits there, in Shane’s shirt, for the whole evening. Shane can barely keep his eyes off Adam’s neck, Adam’s forearms, the few inches of chest peeking out. 

Shane waits until they’re seated with their food and a glass of wine to ask again. Adam gives an indulgent smile, like,  _ are we on this again? _

Shane insists. “Not that my shirt doesn’t suit you, but I’d very much like to know why I went home without it and why you’re wearing it today.”

Adam sighs, like it pains him to cut the bit so quick. “We were so drunk.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Shane’s about to vibrate out of his skin. All the best and worst stories tend to begin with  _ we were so drunk _ . 

“You spilled an entire cup of punch down my front and insisted that I wear your shirt to make up for it. You said I couldn’t be shirtless, and when I said that if you did you’d be the shirtless one, you just took it off.”

“That’s it?”

“I tried to give it back at the end of the night but you were so far gone I just called an Uber and took you home.”

“That’s it?”

“What you were expecting?”

Now, it takes a lot to shut Shane up, but this is pretty much it. He ducks his head down to hide his blush and takes a bite of his steak so he doesn’t have to talk. 

Adam is silent for a minute and Shane knows what he’s thinking, he knows what he’s gonna say –

“You thought we hooked up.”

Shane’s eyes snap up of their own accord, and he doesn’t know what Adam sees in them but he speaks again. 

“You  _ hoped _ we hooked up.”

Shane gives the tiniest shrug. “I mean, I’m glad we didn’t.”

A shadow passes over Adam’s face, an unreadable expression. 

“Cause when we do, I’d like to remember it.”

“I hope you got another shirt to lend me,” Adam says, puzzling Shane. “Cause I’m gonna leave this one on your bedroom floor.”

Shane barely remembers finishing their meal and driving home. On a normal day, Shane would take his time and appreciate the good food and good wine, but this is not a normal day – there’s something else he’s got to appreciate. It’s a bummer this restaurant is a fancy place, and not, say, some hole in the wall that gives you a t-shirt if you finish your plate in record time, because this is pretty much what they end up doing. 

The closer they get to his place, the more keyed up Shane feels, his skin is too tight, each of his nerve endings acutely aware of Adam’s presence. 

It’s only when they get out of the car that Shane realizes Adam undid two more buttons on the shirt – as if Shane needed any more seducing. 

“Fuck,” he says breathlessly. “I might just let you keep it.” He toys with the collar but Adam shrugs. 

“It looks better on you.”

“Lies and slander.”

They’re in the middle of Shane’s living room, shoes kicked at the door, when Shane stops, trails a finger down Adam’s chest, past two, three, four undone buttons. 

“Can I take it off?” he asks, pinching the shirt gingerly between two fingers. 

“It’s your shirt,” Adam says, like it’s all the same to him, but he’s smirking. 

Shane undoes the remaining buttons, slides the shirt off Adam’s shoulders, hands trailing down his arms, down his back, up his sides. 

“Adam,” he breathes out. 

Adam just hums, his hands coming up to cup Shane’s ass, pull him closer. 

One look. A fire in Adam’s eyes, the warmth of which flows down to Shane’s core. Shane can’t take this much longer. He leans down as Adam steps up on his tiptoes, and their lips meet at last. 

Adam kisses just like he eats – hungrily, like whatever’s on his plate won’t be enough, like he might just take Shane away and keep it for himself. He cups Shane’s jaw and deepens the kiss, a little growl in his throat making Shane’s knees weak. 

“C’m’on,” Shane mumbles against his lips, backing him down the hallway to his bedroom. “Bed.”

Adam chuckles. “Eager?”

“Man, you’ve been teasing me in my shirt all day, yeah I’m eager.”

“I wasn’t teasing, I was just wearing it.”

“Exactly.”

Adam’s calves bump against the bed and he pulls Shane after him in a tangle of limbs. Breathless kisses and soft looks, wandering hands and ticklish chuckles, and Shane pushes Adam flat on his back. 

Adam’s eyes go dark as Shane straddles him, pins his wrists above his head. 

“Shane, please…” he whines. 

“Now who’s eager?”

“Let me see you,” Adam says, voice tight in his throat.

Shane sits up on his haunches, wiggling just a bit more than strictly necessary, because he can feel Adam’s dick, hard against his ass. Adam hisses and fists the bedspread, hips quivering as he tries not to buck up. Shane makes quick work of his shirt, but pauses for a second over his belt. It’s pretty clear where this is going but he wants to make sure. He raises his eyebrows up at Adam, like,  _ yeah? _ and Adam’s hands fly up to his belt buckle, knocking Shane’s hands out of the way. 

They undress each other in a whirlwind of warm skin and hasty fingers, sharing smiles and kisses and lustful glances. Adam goes  _ oh fuck _ when he first sees Shane’s cock, a flush spreading past his beard and well down his chest. 

Shane kisses everywhere the blush spreads, leaving bite marks in his wake so that Adam becomes a pink and purple mess, panting and writhing under him. 

“Gorgeous,” Shane grins. “You look even better in my bed than in my shirt.”

Something in Adam’s eyes shifts, a new fire, like he can’t take it anymore, and he pushes Shane back to be on top. He lines up their cocks, letting out a soft moan at the touch, and takes both in his hand. They’re both leaking so much that it’s an easy slide, and Adam starts fucking into his hand, rutting against Shane’s cock. Their breaths mingle together in a messy open mouthed kiss, and Adam sets up a steady rhythm, punctuated by Shane’s moans. 

Shane’s hands come up to grip Adam’s ass for purchase so he can fuck into his hand and gets the sweet friction he craves. He plants his feet flat on the bed and thrusts, again and again, and Adam’s hand tightens around them. 

“Shane, Shane,” Adam pants, eyes scrunched shut, forehead glistening with sweat. “Fuck, Shane…”

Shane’s about to lose his mind – his stomach tightens as a mellow heat pools in his gut, tugging insistently until he lets go. His restraint crumbles and he bucks up, holding Adam tight against him, as close as he can, and he spills, thick and warm over Adam’s hand, over his cock, over their stomachs. 

“Shane,” Adam repeats, strangled, and follows him over the edge, hips stuttering, uselessly fucking into his spent, messy hand. 

“I got you, I got you,” Shane pants, pawing at his back. He tries to get him even closer, paying no mind to the sticky mess between them. 

Adam rests his forehead on Shane’s shoulder, catches his breath while Shane nuzzles his temple. Shane feels their heartbeats slow down, in sync, and presses soft kisses on the top of Adam’s head. 

“We should probably shower,” Adam says, a low rumble that Shane can feel in his chest. 

“What’s the point? I’m just gonna getcha filthy again.”

Adam looks up at him, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Oh, is that how it is?”

“Mhmm.”

“What if I get you filthy instead?”

“Do your worst, baby.”


End file.
